


Magic

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Angst, Lots of Crying, M/M, Naegi just kinda bein there, i think im using these category things right ao3 is foreign to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is when he realizes that there is no magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if there are any inconsistencies with the main story line, I just kinda guessed on what happens after all is said and done.

_“It’s just a bad dream, Kiyotaka,” Mama’s voice is soft, it’s always so nice and easy, almost as warm as her hugs. “Just nightmares, baby, sometimes our brains like to play mean tricks on us.” She ruffles his hair gently, pulling back from the embrace, thumbing away the tears that keep rolling down his cheeks._

  
_Her son folds himself into a ball, sniffling and snorting and his little rosy cheeks are stained with tears and so are his sleeves, and with the position he’s in, his knees are getting a bit soggy now. “B-but it was so scary Mama,” He whimpers, leaning forward to bury his face in her pillowy chest, it’s safe there, nothing bad happens when she’s got him. “Th-there were mon-monsters and they were chas-sing m-me!” He hiccups, clutching tight to his mother’s nightgown while she rubs small circles into his back, swaying gently from side to side in an attempt to soothe the 6 year old._   


_She coddles him, rocking and patting and kissing the top of his head until the sobbing dies down to soft whimpers and sniffle, smoothing his messy hair before she pulls back, smiling softly at him. “I have a trick for you, Kiyotaka.” The smile widens when the little boy’s eyebrows lift in interest, head tilted to the side slightly with a sniffle. She tucks him back in, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Are you ready? Watch carefully, okay?”_

  
_“Yes Mama.”_   


  
_He watches carefully, just as he’s told, as she stretches one arm out to the side, the other half bent close to her chest._   


  
_“Forget…”_   


  
_They form a box around her upper body now, and Kiyotaka’s bushy eyebrows meet in confusion._   


  
_“Forget…”_   


  
_Suddenly, her arms extend, her hands held so that her fingers meet to make what looks like a rounded off triangle, aimed right at him._   


  
_“Forget beam!!”_   


  
_She has to hold in her giggling at his absolutely baffled expression, her hands still outstretched before her. “See? Now your nightmares are gone, the forget beam is very powerful.”_   


  
_He opens his mouth to question how that could be, but then he realizes that he can’t remember the frightening dream, too entranced, and incredibly confused, by the strange movements his mother had been making. “…how do you do that, Mama?” Kiyotaka asks, and the astonishment in his whisper makes her laugh this time._   


  
_She lets her hands drop, and stoops down to whisper, “Magic.” before kissing his forehead. “Now get some sleep, you’ve got school tomorrow.”_  

 

Now he wishes that it really could be magic. 

As he grabs for the dark colored coat just out of his grasp, he wishes that there was such a thing that could be done. That he could make all of those ridiculous movements with his arms and shout at the top of his lungs and everything would be wiped from everyone’s memory; hell, he would forget beam through the walls and drag everyone out if he could, leave that bear in here to rot.  

This is when he realizes that there is no magic, there’s no forget beam, Mother isn’t here to pat his back and tuck him back into bed, and now he’s on his knees in front of the cage, and there isn’t anyone to be his brother anymore. 

There’s nothing but tears and the sound of the motorcycle falling onto its side inside of the death trap to accompany his wails of agony, there’s a visible puddle of tears and other fluid that’s starting to run into the forearms of his uniform, but he can’t seem to care about possibly ruining one of his uniforms, he’s got more, he can afford to lose one.

He wishes that could be all he’s losing.  

His throat burns like fire, and the only reason he can hear the soft shuffling of feet as the other students take their leave is because his voice has totally given out. The ear piercing wails have been reduced to nothing more than drawn out ragged breaths, and there’s an ache in his chest that feels like it could rip him in half like a piece of paper.  

Someone— was it Naegi? It’s blurry, he can’t tell. Is kind enough to put up with his stumbling to take him back to his room, and Ishimaru is grateful for the silence, no one is telling him to cool it, no one is trying to calm him down, part of him thinks he should say thank you, but he couldn’t find his voice if he tried.  

“Ishimaru-kun,” They pause in the doorway, and now Ishimaru notices that Naegi is carrying something in his other arm, a box? His arms cooperate enough to reach for it when it’s handed over, and when he realizes what it is, he feels like he might collapse under its almost nonexistent weight. “We thought that… it would be best for you to have it.” 

He stares down at the coat in his arms, feeling even more tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. His mouth opens and closes several times, and he has to swallow hard before he can croak out a “Th-thank you.” Naegi ducks his head, making sure Ishimaru is inside of the room before he releases his arm.  

“Goodnight, Ishimaru-kun.” He says softly— is he crying? He can’t tell if he’s brushing away hair or tears when his hand sweeps over his cheek. Ishimaru says nothing as the other boy leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. He looks back down at the coat in his arms, being careful not to let any tears drop on it.  

There’s no point in trying to walk toward the bed to sleep, there’s no point in trying now; he only sits on the floor and buries his face in Mondos’ coat. It smells like motorcycles and oil, and a few other smells he can’t recognize, is that cologne somewhere in there? It smells like Mondo. The more he inhales and holds onto the article of clothing, the more bittersweet everything becomes.  

There is no such thing as magic, and even if there was, Mondo Oowada is one person Ishimaru would rather not have blasted away from his memory. 


End file.
